Cold damp dark of night ascends, is parted, penetrated by light like swords of angels stabbing through the atmosphere. The remainder is patched parts of gray. Saturday morning is going on, tiny chip-chatterings in coconut trees, sounding roosters-out the four directions, cats glut themselves on breakfast then seek pools of fire to glory-bathe. Grace and chicks burst across the yard in their boisterous reply to dawn.
Sitting, puzzling, how far into (this) the sun can go, is the waiting question. Sorting through some past impressions and interpretations, shifts in orientation, momentous or errant conclusions drawn. Awareness of other entities, not oneself, inside a self, creeping through cracks and chiselling away in stealthy corners, strangers. Emerging from logic-fogs in desolate confusion, at baffled love, not knowing how one got there or where one left oneself, uncovered. Feeling for order among untrusted elements, a haunted shipwreck and the old debate over the weather, over whether any of this is salvageable, after rain. Leaning on others.
Strength of sun settles as clouds knit back together. There are periods of shadow, periods of heat, hammers sounding from the outer rooms, and weary resignation to the unborn symbols whose beauty-queen machinations dictate progress over the liabilities of (tear-stained, tangled, raw) labile perception. Letting go, carrying on.